A Mother's Garden 
of Verse 



Rosalind Huidekoper Greene 




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Book. 



COPMRIGHT DEPOSIIi 



A Mother's Garden 
of Verse 



Rosalind Huidekoper Greene 




1922 

THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Massachusetts 






Copyright, 1922 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Mass. 



The Alpine Press. Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



AUG -7 1922 



©CI.A681444 



To Forestall 
A Probable Reviewer 

''This volume is . . . 
'The effort of an earnest modern woman; 
'Quite civic-minded — (Yes, they all are, now!) 
'And yet intent to bind upon her brow 
'The fillet of a fireside queen and wife: 
'Friends, children, nature, spiritual strife 
'Neatly served up; and, just to show she's human 
'Some serious love verse, (rather trite in phrasing) 
' The metre isn 't famous ; she is chary 
' Of crisp new tones ; — a dull vocabulary. 
'There's courage there, the woman sounds alert; 
'If not original, she is not pert ; 
' The pious tone may fall a little flat, 
'But insincere? — no, really, it's not that. 
'And yet, alas, in the last stern appraising, 
'When to the starry hall of poets we bring 
' The little book, what verdict will it wring 
'Out of the glorious judges? Can they find 
'More than good-will, to which one's always kind 



''But which commodity can hardly be 
"Rechristened and reborn as poetry? 
"One lays the verses down. Were they worth doing, 
"Or, still more serious, are they worth reviewing?" 



To 
C. F. H. 



Proem 

There are not many themes 

For song. Mirth, sorrow, dreams, 

The hunger to be bom again ; 

That other passion in the hearts of men 

To make our earth a place 

Worthy of the Creator's grace. 

Of these we sing, 

Poet, saint and loyer, wearying 

Oft of the frail 

Imperfect songs that fail, 

But never of the themes : 

Love, sorrow, heavenly dreams. 



CONTENTS 








Page 


LOVE 


The Past 3 


Ipswich, Sunday Afternoon 






5 


Once Your Dear Laughter 






6 


My Love Flies Over Seas 






7 


November 1920 






8 


Wistaria .... 






9 


Dreams . . . . . 






10 


To One Far Away . 






. 13 


Chartres .... 






. 14 


HOME 


Home 17 


River Houslin . 






. 18 


Against Homes 






. 19 


Young Mother's Song 






. 20 


Nurserj^ Rhymes 






. 21 


Union Station, Washington, June, 1917 22 


Mothers .... 






23 





Page 


A Mother Speaks 


. 24 


By the Hearth .... 


. 26 


Exquisite and Merry One 


. 27 


Sonnet 


. 28 


To A Maiden .... 


. 29 


To a School Mistress 


. 30 


Father and Child 


. 31 


For Travellers .... 


. 32 


To Joy in Absence . 


. 33 


To Katrine Rose 


. 34 


Song 


. 35 


Ernesta 


. 37 


Song 


. 40 


Antibes 


. 41 


The Mother's Company . 


. 43 


FRIENDS 




To a Dear Guest 


. 47 


An Evening Letter to a Friend 


. 49 


Ellen 


. 50 


William James 


. 51 


Ella 


. 52 


Agnes 


. 53 


To Ernest 


. 54 


A Saint at Play 


. 55 


The Intuitionist — Pragmatist . 


. 56 











Page 


To Two Friends 57 


To an Aviator 59 


A Portrait 60 


WAR 


New York 65 


The Pledged Word 1915 






. 67 


America 1915 . 






. 68 


Joy . 








. 69 


At Night . 








. 70 


Earl Kitchener 








. 71 


Rupert Brooke 








. 72 


The Emperor . 








, 73 


New Air . 








. 74 


Theodore Roosevelt 








. 75 


The Last Crusade 








. 76 


SUNLIGHT 


To Brother Sun 79 


The Poet's Catch . 








. 80 


Newbury . 








. 81 


An Easter Violet 








. 82 


Ferns 








. 83 


Calix Florium . 








. 84 


The Dream 








. 87 


Lone Pine Hill . 








. 89 



Page 
PRAYER 

A Song for My Lord . . . .93 
A Little Song for Death . . . .94 
To Those Who Make Formulas . . 95 

Sisters of Worship 96 

Grief's Rival 97 

Sonnet 98 

His Ways 99 

Prayer 100 

On Modern Talk of Sex . . . . 101 

The Captain 102 

Calvary 104 

Prayer 105 



LOVE 



The Past 

Death cannot take me from my dear, 

For we have pierced too far 

Each other's souls to fear 

The jealous beauty of another star, 

But who shall ever comfort me 

For days he sorrowed long ago, 

And I not near to comfort him, or know 

How, in the forge of agony. 

Faith's sword was hammered, out of woe? 

Once a young wonderer, deep eyed, he stood 

On edge of spring's enchanted wood. 

Heart in flower and sword on high ; 

And once a little boy 

Played solemn plays 

Through solitary days 

'Neath childhood's great still sky. 

My darling, where was I? 

These mated years of joy 

And happy sharing. 

Laughter, work, and staunch wayfaring, 

Blessed are, without alloy ; 

But I am wistful to have been 

[3] 



Close by you, 

Comrade in your baby sin, 

Your mother weeping 

To behold your lovely sleeping, 

Your first young love, seen through a cloud of dew 



[4] 



Ipswich, Sunday Afternoon 

From a steep crested hill, above the sea 

'Mong wind-swej)t pines, we gazed forth to the east. 

The earth was splendid as a bridal feast, 

And past the tide-smooth beaches, leisurely 

The ocean flashed. Through black trees we could see 

Par water blue as sapphire ; nearer by 

Saw the shoal waters, by the sand-bar, lie 

Light green and amber, gleaming limpidly. 

world of beauty, in the wind-washed air! 
And yet, at last, the shore wind blew us free 
Of ev'n that beauty. Past the world went we 
To stand together for a little space 
Beneath the wings of Death, and fearless there 
We looked upon each other, face to face. 



[5] 



Once your dear laughter tossed my moods away, 
Whirled off the fancies of the vanished years; 
Flung down my scruples, dried my silly tears, 
Blew out night's torch, flung wide the gates of day. 
And after laughter, love spoke, princely gay, 
Till all my quiet pulses leaped and stirred 
Glad as a flag at sea, and swift the word 
Was spoken that no speaking can unsay. 

So love and laughter bound me for jonr own ; 
And grief, with iron consecration, came 
To crown our single faith. But there 's no name 
For this new peace, beyond all dreams of youth. 
Parting or meeting, we breathe air of truth : 
Behold, I know, even as I am known! 



[6] 



My love flies over seas to fold you round, 

Smooth as the wind. Unseen its tireless flow 

And inescapable. Where'er you go 

I go before. If you climb rocky ground 

A lonely pioneer, my love has crowned 

The cloudy heights ; and in your hearth fire 's glow, 

Each tiny merry flame that chatters so 

Is fanned by love, and sings with love 's gay sound. 

Burn up the silly words I write, but know 

No fire can burn my thought ; nor floods be found 

To whelm and quench it. Out of mortal woe 

And separation springs immortal power. 

Lo, past the seas of death, in grief's dark hour 

Strong as the wind, my love shall fold you round. 



[7] 



November 1920 

After long rain, a north wind blew the sky 
Into sharp brilliance. All the poplars bent 
Like silver banners, when her spirit went, 
Out from the little room, into that high 
And timeless brilliance. Nothing seemed to die 
Except my pain for her long pain. I knew 
Neither whence came this wind, nor where it blew, 
But it moved strong as immortality. 

''Even in the Valley of Death's shadow I 
"Shall fear no evil," and I had not feared. 
But when death came, valley and shadow cleared, 
And the slim trees that she had loved, I saw 
Rain-fresh and splendid, while with tearless awe 
I looked on her bright hills and wind-clean sky. 



[8] 



Wistaria 

The slow and difficult tears 
That from the deepest fountain of the heart 
Painfully start, 
Fell down her unstirred face. 
For just at evening, when the work was done, 
Each child laid down to rest in its own place, 
And silent all the house, she saw the sun 
Like a faint fading lantern shine 
Through the wistaria vine : 
She heard a voice, thousands of miles away, 
Teasingly say, 
*'In Heaven we will dine 

''On grapes as purple as those clustered flowers. 
''The sun will be our dinner gong 
"And through the pleasant evening hours 
"You'll sing me a sweet cradle-song 
"Untill fall asleep/' 

Her frozen courage thawed, and once more she 
could dream and weep. 



[9] 



Dreams 

Where lies my well-beloved tonight? 

Has courteous darkness shed 

Its mantle round your sleeping head? 

Or is the moon-filled, misty light 

Like glistening samite spread 

Magically white 

On your crusader *s bed? 

I pray you, dream! 

Not of the day's 

Ordered and intricate ways, 

But of some flashing mountain stream 

Dashing down broken rocks, to gleam 

Smooth in its lower flight 

Between 

Tall Northern firs, sharp-spired and keen. 



[10] 



Or dream of some old garden, set 

With hearts-ease, and with mignonette, 

Where soft as shadows on the grass. 

Stately as in a minuette, 

Memories turn and glide and pass; 

Of sand dunes grey beneath the moon, 

Measureless, dim, 

A pallid desert stretching to the brim 

Of the immense and grey-waved ocean, 

Whose leisurely and irresistible motion 

Sings a strange tune, 

The exquisite long plash 

Against smooth sand, the curling delicate crash 

Of pebbles flung ashore in foam, 

The tinkling, curious rune 

As the retreating moonlit ripple calls them home. 

Or dream of sunset after rain 

In some deep-bosomed wood, 

The dark, sweet-odored solitude. 

The western fires, marked plain 

With interlacing line on line 

Of black-branched pine, 

AVhile in the vaulted flame-lit hush 

Serenely float 

Authentic note on note. 

The slim, pure buglings of a hermit thrush. 

[II] 



Of such fair places, shadowy or clear, 
Dream ! Not of me, most dear, 
Although I pray 
For you by night, by day. 
Although my love in silence lies 
Always upon your sleeping eyes. 
Quiet as darkness, and as near. 

But into the innocent wonders of your dream 

Wander alone, by stream 

And garden, grove and moonlit sand. 

In that sweet, haunted land 

One wiser than I shall lift your tired hand, 

And keep 

My dear one safe among the mysteries of sleep. 



[12] 



To One Far Away 

My hearth fire dies, the stars ride high, 
And past them, in the winter sky, 
My spirit wanders, swift and far. 
Seeking your name in every star. 

I am at peace. The Lord has given 
Your love to me, and love is heaven, 
And if He choose to take away 
Your presence, shall I Him gainsay? 

But in the evening stillness I 
Leave earth 's dear warmth, and past the sky 
Travel like sea-foam on the wind, 
Seeking to touch your absent mind. 



[13] 



Chartres 

"We'll go a pilgrimage some day 
To France, to see the Virgin's shrine 
And jewelled glass, your hand in mine 
Camerado, brave and gay ! 

Another pilgrimage we'll go 
Together, or if one must wait 
We'll call across the star-locked gate 
Where Sister Death's great roses blow. 



['4] 



HOME 



Home 

Happiness, laughter, courtesy, 

A house where children merrily 

Obey their parents' word: a home 

Where any friend may come 

On any day or night. 

To share new trouble or delight ; 

Where flowers bloom, 

And winter hearth-fires light the room; 

A place 

Of work, play, argument and grace ; 

Where folly shall not be reproved, 

And every nobleness is loved ; 

Where the Lord's name is said 

Thankfully, ere morning bread. 

woman, you who ask 

For some majestic task 

To match you, can you find 

A higher challenge for your mind, 

A sweeter service for your heart, 

Than this familiar work of art? 



[17] 



River Houslin 

Where sunlight lies on open ground, 
Where cedars top a rocky mound, 
(A little river runnning round) 
Where orchard trees the marshes bound, 
Here let us come. 

Where children's voices laugh and call 
(0 dreadful Indians in the hall !) 
Where babies learn to romp and crawl 
While kitties wrangle for their ball, 
Here love finds room. 

Where friends before the fire sit 
With an old book of cherished wit. 
While sweet uncounted hours flit, 
(Tea comes; we jest and drink of it,) 
Lo .this is home. 



[i8] 



Against Homes 

Can it be fitting that the soul, whose name 

Is called immortal, should so fiercely burn 

With love for little places? Should so yearn 

'er a white house, and pear trees, and the flame 

Of autumn sumach ? Should so fondly claim. 

As of one substance with itself, the turn 

Of a tide river, and the fading fern 

Edging the rock where wild babes shout their game? 

Too sweet, too sweet is home, and like a net 

Snares the wild soul, and soothes it, till, grown tame, 

No more it mounts the thin, cold air of dream, 

But slumbers happy by a mortal stream. 

Beware, contented ones, lest ye forget 

The lonely trails of glory and of shame ! 



t'9] 



Young Mother's Song 

Walled from the world with triple walls 

Of laughter, love and laboring, 
I to my blessed baby sing. 
While evening falls. 

Bound to the world with threefold chain 

Of laughter, love and labor sweet, 
I kiss my dove, and happy greet 
The dawn again. 



[20] 



Nursery Rhyme 

Little rooms in a row, 
Rose, blue, white as snow, 
Amber yellow : little beds 
Waiting for dear sleepy heads. 
Nursery table, set so neat 
Near the ground for little feet. 
Milk in silver mugs, wheat bread 
On a generous platter spread. 
While from out the garden come 
Children's voices, in a hum. 
As if they like bees did sup 
Honey from the day 's gold cup. — 
Mother waits upon the stairs. 
Heart all laughter, peace and prayers. 



[21] 



Union Station, Washington 
June 1917 

Baby against your mother's breast! 

Soft face, so softly pressed 

Against her comfortable side ; 

unknown woman with that face of pride, 

And the strong arm, holding your baby furled 

Fast in your shawl out of the jostling world. 

Here in this vaulted station where trains meet 

From half the continent, and hurrying feet 

Bear famous men, and women very fair. 

Soldiers and statesmen and old people, bent 

On war or play, business or love's intent; 

Behold, on that stiff seat and in this noisy air, 

You two sit undisturbed there 

plain-dressed woman and your babe, withdrawn 

As if you sat upon a flowering lawn 

Where lambkins played, and where the mounting dawn 

Made rainbow crowns above your hair ! 



[22] 



Mothers 

Mothers should be like the sky, 
Shining, calm and very high. 

Like the sun that warms one through 
Makes one feel all glad and new. 

Or a deep and quiet wood, 
Friendly place for solitude. 

Like a dictionary book. 
Every answer at a look. 

All this mothers ought to be. 
But they 're only — you and me ! 



[^3] 



A Mother Speaks 

I'd like to loll and read, 

And think deep thoughts on love and life and death, 

But there's the pup to feed; 

Prancesca's knitting in a tangle, too — 

"There, dear, I'll knot the blue. 

Now start the pink stripe neatly underneath." 

I wonder if the saints get out of breath 

Scrubbing the heavenly stairs. 

Or are they always kneeling at their prayers? 

"Oh, children, see! The donkey's run away. 

"He's in the field, tumbling the new-piled hay. 

"Please tie him up." — 'Moy, what's the happy news? 

"Is that a sweet, new kitty cat that mews? 

"The blessed, furry, funny little dear! 

"We'll cuddle it right here." 

Eternal Lord, Whom all the stars obey, 

Whose name the Seasons echo on their way, 

Teach mothers how to live and how to pray. 

"Cookies for supper? Yet, one each, and jam. 

"Why is Katrine in sorrow? Tell me quick." — 

"Mother, the baby lamb, 

"That little baby lamb that was so sick, 



'as dead! Oh, mother, tell me why?"— 

*'My darling one, don't cry. 

"The precious thing is safe, because God's love 

**Was always round it here, and up above 

''There v^^ill be pastures golden as the sun, 

''Where j'our dear lamb can crop the flowers, and run 

"All well again, beside a silver brook." 

"But, mother, I will miss him so!" 

"Darling, I know, I know!" 

Father in Heaven, look 

Tenderly down on my wee girlie's woe. 

And comfort her ; for how can I declare 

The mystery of that wee lambkin's breath. 

Thy secret ways, so terrible and fair, 

Thy wonderful ways of love and life and death ? 



[35] 



By the Hearth 

Tranced children 's faces, listening to the story 
Of ancient love and laughter ; towns set fire 
To appease some golden-greaved King's deep ire; 
Of woodland dells where fairies trip, of hoary 
Old Merlin's cunning, and the legends gory 
Of Cross and Crescent met ; of shivering spears 
In endless tourneys betwixt Tristram's peers. 
So the young souls drink up th' immortal glory. 

You listening ones, Francesca morning clear, 
Katrine the subtle, Joy so quick to love. 
How, when life calls, will you your spirits prove? 
Still of high hearts and fearless, earth has need. 
Still there are seas to cross ; but hero's meed 
Is death to suffer, though so fair to hear. 



[26] 



Exquisite and merry one 
Dew in starlight, dawn-flushed snow 
Sea foam in the beach-fire's glow 
Sword blade in the sun! 

Brilliant and divine and mild 
As a roving star, you came 
Like the sweet Saint John, whose game 
Pleased the Holy Child. 

Free limbed as a gypsy boy 
Up the cedar hill you run. 
Oh my white sword in the sun, 
My beautiful, my joy ! 



[27] 



Oh, you swift lovely summer-hearted child! 
Rainbow and thunder and the fluting bird 
Our brother hermit thrush, whom we two heard 
Beyond the rain-wet pines now, till your wild 
Limbs stopped their play, your grey eyes 

flashed and smiled. 
Rainbow and lightning and the dawn-cold dew 
And foaming mountain brooks are met in you, 
Clothed in that amber body, curved and mild. 

Dear One, I pray you, when past childhood's hours 
You step down bravely into that stern place 
Of the world's labor, keep your happy powers 
Clear as this mountain air. Oh, let your pace 
Be fleet and sure on earth. Let your soul's grace 
Shine, as your eyes shine, 'mong these hemlock 
bowers. 



[28] 



To a Maiden 

The silver lilies stand like spears 
Before the wicket of your heart. 
You have not any other art 
To arm your fears. 

And round your spirit's garden plot 
The golden thistles burn like stars. 
You have not any other bars 
To say ''come not.'* 



But one will come in whose brave hand 
The lilies will be soft as dew, 
The thistles falling light; and you 
Will understand. 



[^] 



To a School Mistress 

As in the rhythm of a song 

The singer is not bound but free 

So moves my merry girl along 
Your paths of ordered liberty. 

School is no prison, and a book 
No dungeon, for her happy mind. 

She sparkles singing, like a brook 
Whose bright shores rule, but do not bind. 

Life has its torrents, storm and flood. 

Its broken metres : but a truth 
Deeper than these, chants in the blood 

Of gallant and obedient youth, 

Who know, unknowing, that the Law 
Is, somehow, lovely. You, who make 

Space for that melody, my awe. 
My love and thankful honor take ! 



[30] 



Father and Child 

Your girl, with your own eyes, 

Your gift of finding life a good surprise, 

Your own impatience of an over-subtle world; 

Hunger for fun and glory. 

Behind her shoulder, as at yours, unfurled 

I see a flag, and her feet tread a story. 

Oh, princely pair, though other men may ponder 

On deep and delicate things, you two will show 

How bravely human hearts can go. 

As in deep ways and delicate you wander, — 

Eyeing all danger 

As a most welcome stranger. 

All joy 

As holy, healthy food, without alloy, 

And every pain. 

All sorrowful mystery, 

As solid links in the imperious chain 

That makes men brothers, — So, erect and free 

And chivalrous and unabashed, you fare. 

You and your girlie, into earth's wide air. 



[31] 



For Travellers 

My girlie going on the train, 
There 's the light, see, there again 1 
Over marsh and meadow rill, 
While I, on my cedar hill, 
Pray that all the trainmen are 
Watchful of each signal star. 
So my traveller, happy eyed, 
Safely through the night may ride. 

Even so, on some far day 
(Ah, not so far away) 
I shall watch the children fare 
Forever past my hands' glad care. 
And I must stay at home and pray 
They shall meet upon their way 
Faithfu] spirits who will burn 
Each a brave torch in his turn, 
Lighting up the the long straight road, 
The dangerous path to God ! 



[32] 



To Joy in Absence 

I'm hungry for your flesh against my heart, 
Quick little bolt of life, unversed in love, 
Swift-footed at my voice. I long to move 
My fingers on your neck, to pet and part 
Th 'untoward, tender stubble of your hair, 
A comic crest above that vivid face. 
My breast aches for your tired body's grace, 
Naked at bedtime, in my hand's fond care. 

Joy ! Joy ! My baby ! Through my eyelids smart, 
I see, beyond impatient years that rove, 
A child, intent, impetuous, who shall wear 
Forever such a look unshamed and fierce. 
Keen lightning from the summer sky, to pierce 
Past trifling, to the Truth's immortal face. 



[33] 



To Katrine Rose 

My pigeon with the rosy feet, 
My little sugarplum, my sweet, 
Coo to me, pretty, I entreat. 

My blood in waves of music swims, 
At cuddled comfort of your limbs. 
You smile; the day with magic brims. 

Oh, little package of delight. 

Seen in the candle's wavering light, 

Rose-dimpled, tiny, hungry sprite. 

Laughing, I hold you to my breast ; 

You take of me, and lo, I rest, 

The earth grown homelike as a nest. 



[34] 



Tiniest, fiercest, wee, wild thing 
Whose fingers, light as a butterfly wing, 
Pat me in heavenly, jesting glee, 
Babykins, love you me? 

What may love be to you, starling sweet? 
•Laughter and play and a bubbling fleet 
Of sudden, exquisite, ecstasies. 
Whimsical browed surprise? 

My love is a flower from the sod of death, 
A torn, triumphant lift of the breath. 
Cry for the truth among shades, new trust 
Sharp as a rapier thrust. 

But you, swift of pace as a clatter of bells. 
With eyes a-glitter like fairy wells, 
And fingers like random stars at play. 
Truants into our day. 



[35] 



You creature of dew-washed, golden guile, 
Whose kiss is a brushing of lips that smile, 
A pressing of lips that nothing desire, 
Cool as a moonstone's fire. 

Is love then, a starry angelic jest, 
Calmly poised, like a bird at rest, 
Sailing with wings outspread ? Who knows? 
My life, my star, my Rose ! 



[36] 



Ernesta 

Impassioned exquisite, of fleet 

Ecstatic feet, 
Your blue eyes, bluer than your gown 
Flash black lightnings when you frown 
On your red and subtle lips 
Elfin mystery curves and dips. 

As in spring the swallow slips 
From the steely river's brim 
Up to the keen scented brightness 
Of the blooming pear tree's whiteness, 
So your swift moods whirl and skim 
From dark grief to flashing lightness 

Of unmeasured gayety. 

We, the wearied laity, 
Your grave lovers, in whose books 
Life has printed many a page 

Of reflection sage. 
Of remorse and melancholy, 
We behold your shining folly 
And the storm cloud look 

[37] 



Of your free unfettered rage 

As the heritage 
Of a conquering nature, sent 
Fierce in all your merriment, 
Fearless in your wrath and wilful 
To destroy the dully skilful 
Grown-ups in their ancient game 
Of making brave new spirits tame. 

Grief, we say 
Is the Life, the Path, the Way, 
Grief, the iron road for youth. 
But your sudden beauties tell 

Of a fairer need, 
A more puissant miracle. 
How a little child shall lead 
Laughing, to the citadel 
Of the high and secret truth. 

So at last, 
Wisdom being overpast, 
Love no longer being weakness. 
Shall the soul impatient cast 
Off its garb of ashen meekness. 
And in glowing robes of pride 
Shall leap past the haughty stars, 
Spurning all the bars 

[38] 



Of despair and prudent fears, 
Cleaving the grey clouds of tears, 
Past the foaming spheres. 

She shall leap 
O'er the parapets of Heaven. 
And there before the emerald throne 

Shall not weep, 
Nor pittance of a beggar crave. 

But swift and brave 
As one who cannot be denied. 

Ask her own, 

As you, my childie, leave your wilding game 

And running to my side, 

Imperious, happy eyed. 
My heart, my time, my instant kisses claim. 



[39] 



I have a wild poem in my head, 
A clash and glitter of swift wings, 
But Nesta comes into my bed, 
Teases and kisses me and sings. 

Why should we mothers seek in rhyme 
To span the mysteries of space, 
When, triumphing o'er space and time 
Heaven shines for us in a small face? 

And yet, O wilful laughing girl 
Whose fingers brush my thoughts away. 
Your little form of fire and pearl 
Will throb, perhaps, like mine some day. 

Beat with a message from some sphere 
Far from our warm, familiar earth. 
While in your deep young soul you hear 
Strange wings, that clash in wheeling mirth. 



[40] 



Antibes 

Girlies dance beside the sea, 
Wild and gay, wild and free. 
'er their heads the sea gulls go ; 
On the purple Alps, the snow 
Shines, rose-shadowed. In the bay, 
Orange sails pass on their way. 

Hercules, they say, once came 
To this land. Perhaps his fame 
Lingered still, when on the beach 
Thundered the Greek traders speech, 
And the Gallic chieftains gazed 
On the high prowed ships, amazed. 

Earlier still Phoenician oars 
Touched the sand of these far shores. 
And in Roman years there sailed 
A small bark, where wept the veiled 
Marys out of Palestine, 
Bringing grief and hope divine. 

[41] 



Saracen and pirate crew 

Swept like storm clouds o'er the blue. 

Here crusading vessels passed ; 

One, the children's ship, whose mast 

Vanished ; one where Louis prayed 

Courteous-souled and unafraid. 

Oh fair images that pass, 
Burning dream-shades in the glass 
Of the burnished sapphire bay, 
Bright you glitter, as my gay 
Children, dancing wild and free 
By the pools of Sister Sea. 



[42] 



The Mother's Company 

The Mother walks among her dears 
With happy eyes and quiet feet, 
And close about her, as the sweet 
Impatient children, flock past years. 

This tall boy, Indian brown and slim. 
Was once all cream and roses, curled 
AVith rings of gold, who thought the world 
Was a spiced honey cake for him. 

The slender girl, red haired, grey eyed, 
With a ship's chart in her strong hand, 
A few years past would prancing stand 
And fret to have her sashes tied. 

Lo, he with cheeks wine-red today. 
Once a white shadow on white bed 
Lay through the weeks. His mother stayed 
All day to nurse, all night to pray. 

[43] 



And WwA'i) was one, with clearest eyes, 
Clamoring for spoon to dig the sand, 
happy girl, who on some strand 
Plays now with pearls in Paradise! 



The Mother walks among her dears 
With dreaming eyes and steady feet, 
And close about her as the sweet 
Impatient children, flock past years. 



[44] 



FRIENDS 



To a Dear Guest 

In this small room I leave to you, 
Dear friend, I pray you find 

No token how I grieve for you. 
But happily enshrined. 

The high things I believe of you. 
And comfort for your mind. 

And while I humbly learn from you 
Your courage for this hour, 

The lilacs here will burn for you 
With beauty past my power ; 

The slender plum-boughs turn to you 
Their sprays of foaming flower. 

The swift, sweet birds will sing to you 

The things I cannot say ; 
Night's dewy breeze will fling to you 

The little prayers I pray ; 
The eastern light will bring to you 

My love and my good day. 

[47] 



Soon all my ways will part from you ; 

My friendsliiji shall not fade ! 
Swift as the swallows dart to you 

Across the cedar glade, 
I will send back my heart to you, 

Singing and unafraid. 

And if I go through death from you 

Fear not, but come again ! 
Here will I keep my faith with you 

And you will hear me plain 
Speak with immortal breath to you 

In wind and flower and rain. 



[48] 



An Evening Letter to a Friend 

' ' Only a poem ? ' ' Francesca says. 
And in her clear and scornful gaze 
I read the folly of my ways. 

For paper's very white and thin, 
And ink is streaky black like sin, 
And how shall love be clothed therein? 

If I had leaves of maple gold, 
And dipped my pen in aureoled 
Rivers that down from morning rolled; 

If all the words were shaped like shells, 
Inwrought and lovely; sang like bells; 
Glittered like snow on moonlit fells; 

If silver cymbals beat the time. 

And clashed to close the captured rhyme, 

While clarions rang an echoing chime; 

Why then, perhaps, I'd dare to write 
A little poem for your delight. 
But now I only cry, ' ^ Goodnight ! ' ' 

[49] 



Ellen 

Deep, still, and gay, 
My Ellen lives beside us day by day. 
As elegant as fairy ladies are, 
As softly shining as the May month star. 
As practical as Martha-, yet so wise 
That, by her smile, she turns whole destinies. 
And, lest our reverence should chill our love 
While her white fingers 'mong the tea cups move, 
Her leisured moonlit accents tell a story 
Of wit and malice and of worldly glory. 



[so] 



William James 

Without him, where is delight? 
This man bore a flag for us all. 
The turn of his head flashed light, 
His look was a call. 

A warrior, he cried to the Lord, 
A prophet, he saw men's need; 
His words gleamed out like a sword 
That folly might bleed. 

Those arrows of beautiful speech, 
Wit barbed, meteor keen. 
Destroy every sham they reach 
And Truth blooms between. 

Death's chalice of night he drank; 
Now stars meet his equal eyes. 
And God for our friend we thank, 
Though lonely earth lies. 



[SI] 



Ella 

towers of silver and turrets of white fire, 
Enchanted castle of my dear friend's heart, 
Castle of faith and mystical desire 
Where saintlike, she might live alone, apart! 

Lo, from the drawbridge, with its chain of stars 
My Lady passes forth, her flag unfurled. 
And walks in silver might as stern as Mars, 
Inexorably blessing the torn world. 



[52] 



Agnes 

In love she is a woman, in laughter she's a girl ; 
Blown into our dull lives on the west wind's whirl. 

Strong swooping seabirds, above a rocky steep, 

Wing their circling splendor in her gown's quick sweep. 

Prophet or fairj'^ or puck-browed gnome, 

She cajoles them snugly to feasting in her home. 

If the stars were naughty, sure she 'd punish all. 

Then kiss and set them frolic free, the moon for their ball. 

Brown braid crowned I've seen her laughing stand 
Merry in the morning, her broom in her hand. 

So in my heart's mind, I've seen her stand and lead 
Armies, her broom grown a living spear at need. 



[53] 



To Elrnest 

Prophet, carpenter and friend, 
If the whirling worlds should end, 
And God called on 3^ou to frame 
New ones, worthier of His Name : 
Please, then, make a better me 
Still your humble friend to be. 



[S4] 



A Saint at Play 

Where rainbows talk the talk of men 
And all the swords of hate are sheathed, 
In that sweet air my darling breathed 
Ere she came strolling to our ken. 
The elves and angels crowned her when 
She jested with the saints, and wreathed 
Her forehead with wild stars, bequeathed 
That beauty might be known again. 

Now in the hurrying camp of earth 

Where hearts and mornings break in tears, 

Echoes the bugle of her mirth. 

Calling the captains by their name 

She smiles : and like a silver flame 

Virtue in every heart appears. 



[55] 



The Intuitionist-Pragmatist 

There was a young girl who said "Oh, 
''If there is any truth, it aint so. 
* * Two and two look like four, 
"But perhaps they are more; 
"Ask me why, and I tell you, I know!" 



[56] 



To Two Friends 

Pray, darlings, write a letter, 

A telegram or post card, if naught better ! 

There is no pressing reason you should write 

Except the swift delight 

I feel when letters with the mark 

Of your dear hand appear. 

To bless a busy hour, cheer 

A stupid spirit, light the cumbered dark 

Of solitary thinking with the spark 

Of friendship's fiery hieroglyph in sky. 

And there are hours 

Of a dumb wrestling with the heavenly powers 

When faces are too poignant, words too near ; 

Then will a letter lie 

Like a more potent amulet at breast 

Being assurance, rest 

And comradeship of deepest sanctity. 

[57] 



A name to paper given, 

Written in love, is a gold key to heaven; 

A flag more haughty than the topmost trees, 

A wild, glad breeze, 

To blow the breath of fairy, foreign seas 

Into the closet of the mind. 

And so, be kind. 

Send me a post card, telegram, or even better, 

A little darling letter ! 



[58] 



To an Aviator 

Youth is a talent, not a common fact. 
All boys are immature : how many act 
With headlong, generous splendor, as you did 
One day in France, oh dear, immortal Sid? 

Death passed you by, but in his passing threw 
Shadowless light on young, unfearful you. 
So in the years to come, we'll see you still 
As golden youth, winged with a flying will. 



[59] 



A Portrait 

Familiar, unfamiliar face ! 

The cunning artist set aside 

The armored look of j^our habitual pride, 

And with his sure and delicate brush did trace 

The musing moods you oftenest hide. 

Calm browed, grave eyed, 

With the ironic grace 

Of concentrated will that for the moment slips 

Into a weary stillness on your lips. 

Yes, and the fierce, ambitious thirst for duty, 

Hunger for conquest, for self-conquest, only 

That your impatient soul and lonely 

Might scorn the battle won ; these, touched with mirth 

At man's importancies, his petty scale of worth ,• 

All, crowned with your relentless chivalry, 

All this is there, set in authentic beauty, 

The mortal soul of you, immortally 

Portrayed. 

Yet do not be afraid ! 

The scrupulous painter, with his brush of flame 

Has seized your secret, but the fame 

[60] 



Is his forever. When we all are dead 

And stranger generations view 

The living fineness of that head, 

The deep, down-looking eyes 

That never lighted for a little prize ; 

The lips, so firmly lined. 

Tragic with many a spoken word unkind, 

But never twisted by a word untrue ; 

Then, not of you 

Shall wondering things be said. 

The painter's skill, the genius of his choice, 

In these will the yet unborn seers rejoice. 

Careless of every struggle that prepared 

His model for him ; whether you despaired 

Or triumphed at the last; all this ignoring. 

But of that curious throng 

One may arrive, 

A girl, it might be, with gay smile, imploring 

The past to open, you to come alive. 

And speak to her impetuous youth 

Some whisper of your hard won truth ; 

A man perhaps, with strong 

Unthwarted purpose, who would fain discern 

The source of your lips stem 

Assurance and command; 

Or, one may pause and stand 

[6i] 



Longer than these, a woman, in whose eyes 

All happiness lies drowned, but a surmise 

Sweeter than happiness shines very fair. 

Lo, she will turn 

Her clever, tired gaze 

Amusedly upon your portrait there, 

Will unembarrassed dare 

To recompense 

That shadow of your spirit with the gift 

Of exquisite intelligence, 

With pity, love and praise. 

Pity for pain endured and for the pride that still 

Forged your new pain, praise for the reckless will 

Love for the whole of you, as swift. 

As charming as her hand's quick lift 

To touch the gilded frame 

While her eyes seek upon the canvas dark, 

Some token, near the painter's mark. 

Of your mysterious, unremeanbered name. 



[62] 



WAR 



New York 

Vast city, gaunt and desolate, 

Unlovely in the morning murk. 

Where myriad faces pass and wait 

With tired frown and smirk ; 

Do those fierce gods who give thy gold increase 

Withhold the gift of peace? 

Lo, where shall peace be found? In glare 

Of evening's white electric smile? 

Or on a clanging thoroughfare 

Where, mile on mile, 

Huge drays and jangling trams and motors rife 

Bellow their roadway strife. 

The children peer through tangled hair, 

As quick they dart along the squalid street. 

We dream of youth in springtime's blossomed air, 

But here we greet 

Frail bodies, elfin swift, with feverish intent, 

On city errands bent. 

[65] 



''A nation's heart,'' *'the arteries of trade"; 
Did God, then, quicken our great land to seek 
No more than this harsh loaf of daily bread ? 
Shall no man speak 

Those words that to the hungry people give 
Vision, by which men live? 



[66] 



The Pledged Word 
1915 

Man does not keep his word ; the word keeps him. 
It is his armor against evil chance, 
A shield from which all traitorous weapons glance, 
A guard of stern, implacable cherubim. 

Man cannot break his word ; the word outraged 
Is still the master, man the wretched prey, 
Kent, tortured, bleeding, whom Truth scorns to slay, 
Till all her dreadful vengeance is assuaged. 

Look now on Europe. Belgium safe in pain, 
Bleeding, betrayed, immortal, glorious, 
Crowned with high crowns, three times victorious, 
Throned near the altar of her blessed slain. 

And look on Germany, who tore the scroll, 
Laughed at the compact, sneered at Truth and Faith, 
Behold, she learns in pangs of long-drawn death, 
That little scrap of paper was her soul. 



[67] 



America 
1915 

My nation, are you bound in golden chains, 
Thrall of prosperity and sleek content? 
Have you forgot the passionate intent 
With which Columbus sailed? The bitter pains 
Of pilgrim winters? Valley Forge? Have gains 
Of heroes at Port Wagner now grown dim? 
And Lincoln dead ! Is there no blood of him 
Pulsing his message through the country's veins? 

Look upon France, where tearless maids and wives 
Clasp on the sword, and men give up their lives, 
As altar candles, set about the Grail, 
Are trod by Vandals. What if we should fail, 
Drugged with sweet words and over-fed desire, 
To light again that trampled altar fire? 



[68] 



Joy 



My girlie labors at her lesson book 

With whispering baby lips and grave young eyes, 

And I gaze past her to the wintry skies, 

Out from the warm glow of our chimney nook. 

Behold, strange shapes there ! P^or I seem to look 

On Russia, in convulsive agonies ; 

A land of snow and chaos, bloody cries, 

A nation whom all Gods have now forsook. 

How shall the world be saved? By fire and sword, 

Wrath, strategy, diplomacy, the sum 

Of cunning statesmanship? Or will peace come 

Wrought by all hearts that in their childhood learn 

Truth, love and liberty's impassionate word 

In quiet homes where the gay hearth-fires burn ? 



[69] 



At Night 

Oh, surely it was right my man should go 
And do his bit in France. I would not keep 
Him by me. Yet, sometimes I long to know 
Where does my comrade sleep? 

I have no son to pray for. He is all — 
Son, husband, father, lover, perfect friend. 
He was not brave to go : there came a call ; 
He was the one to send. 

AVe had ten years of blessedness. I pass 
Crowned, shod with them. I do not droop or weep, 
Only at night I look across the grass 
And wonder, ''Does he sleep?" 



[70] 



Elarl Kitchener 

Fear death ? I who have dealt it forth like fire 
On withered grass, — have seen my men fall sheer 
Like corn before the reaper, — shall I fear 
Because the black waves, crested green, rise higher 
In tattered pinnacles and walls of ire? 
Their power is stayless, though untorn by shells 
Which ploughed the North Sea into whistling hells 
For Hood's six thousand. And shall I require 
The pillowed cosseting of fools that weep? 
VvThat though my toil be done for England's faith, 
My plan of grim, unbreakable design, — < 
Strangling the foe within our circled line. 
That shall not die. Nor do I balk at death ; 
For I have sown, and there be men to reap ! 



[71] 



Rupert Brooke 

The deathless dead stood up and challenged him 
"Who strolled so proudly into their proud place. 
His golden curls shone with the lordly grace 
Of an archangel's helm. Each lovely limb 
Glowed like white sunlight, though his hands were grim 
With earthly battle, and his perfect face 
Bore :fiery marks. They gazed a little space. 
And asked who entered to their regions dim. 

Then from his throat the fearless music came 
Of English words : " No risen soldier tells 
* ' So poor a thing as his mere mortal name 
''Who died for England in the Dardanelles." 
And the great ghosts in answer lifted up 
The flashing welcome of Death^s loving cup. 



[72] 



The Emperor 

Above the year-long battle field 
lu Flanders and in Hungary 
High o 'er the silvered Alps, I see 
The Emperor who will not yield. 

The Lord and Prince, the Crucified, 
Hangs on His Cross, through crimson years. 
And every hiss of pain He hears, 
And every bullet tears His side. 

God gave us to Him for His own, 
And so each foe and infidel 
Prisoner and spy, He knows full well. 
Yea, every wife who weeps alone. 

And when we say we hold Him dear, 
Christ thunders from His Cross above 
"Blaspheme not! Say not me ye love, 
"Until you love your brothers here." 

Above the year long battle field. 
The North Sea graves, the agony 
Of trench and marsh and sand — I see 
The Emperor who will not yield. 

[73] 



New Air 

How can we breathe this air? 

We, used to leaden vapors of despair ; 

To the slow, laboring breath of the oppressed, 

Mornings of foggy pain and nights of choking rest? 

We, 

Suddenly set free — 

How can we draw 

Draughts of this air, surcharged with holy awe ; 

Pure, tingling, wonderful, limpid as dew, 

The air of freedom! Is the vision true? 

Shall we, who dreamed of liberating death 

Stand up, alive and free, and taste the breath 

Of peace, of peace? The conquest given 

To righteous arms at last? Is it the air of Heaven 

That stings like starlight, is it earthly air 

That floods our breasts, that surges like a prayer 

Through heart and limbs? Oh, Lord, Who gave 

Us strength in suffocating darkness, give us power 

To greet this morning, make us brave 

To bear the glory of this hour. 

November 11, 1918. 
[74] 



Theodore Roosevelt 

great American, who stayed 
At home while armies fought for right, 
There was no mist upon your sight 
There is no rust upon your blade. 

Today you walk with all the rest 
Who died for freedom ; and His hand, 
Who holds the single High Command, 
Shall place the War Cross on your breast. 

January 6, 1919. 



[75] 



The Last Crusade 

When shall the nations come, Lord, 
To stand like children at Thy side, 
Dropping their rusted toy, the sword, 
Forgetful of their fear and pride ? 

Like eager children, who have heard, 
Above the shouting of their game, 
A halting cry, a haunting word, 
Tale of a new and dangerous fame. 

And so, like children who forget 
Their hate, when fresh adventure calls, 
Hark to the legend, passionate 
And challenging, of Rome that falls; 

And of Jerusalem that w^aits, 
Across the dreadful seas of love, 
Till nations storm her flashing gates. 
And all mankind are Lords thereof. 



[76] 



SUNLIGHT 



To Brother Sun 

Patient, miraculous, triumphing sun, 
All pervading, magnificent One, 

Fire of Fire and Heat of Heat, 

Are you the throne of the Mercy Seat, 

Or are you but a wee taper, lit 

In the court where God's least angels sit? 



[79] 



The Poet*s Catch 

What shall I catch in my net of words? 

Thunderclouds, meteors, children, birds? 
But first of all and last of all 
The Lord God 's fingers, holding our small 
And darling world, like a golden ball. 



[80] 



Newbury 

After long absence seen afresh 

My little land, my own ! 
Flesh truly of my very flesh, 

Bone of my bone. 

God in His gracious wisdom made, 

Not of two clays but one, 
My heart and this dear orchard glade 

Lit with late sun. 

The ferns shed on my soul new light, 

And, as the evening tide 
Drowns the salt marshes here tonight, 

Full brims my pride. 

Flesh of my very flesh. Kind Lord, 
Is here each flower and stone, 

And every cedar like a sword ; 
Land of my own ! 



[8i] 



An Easter Violet 

Grew this flower in my garden ? 

No, it grew in my own heart. 

I felt the tiny rootlets part 

The ground that only sin can harden, 

That only sorrow 's rainy art 

Can soften. A blue flame of pardon, 

I saw the lovely flower upstart, 

And with its green leaf like a dart, 

Beheld it thine, dear love, who art 

The Lord of all my garden ! 



(82] 



rernd 

Violets tell of Paradise 

Spring, and birds, and lovers' greeting. 

Lilies tell of sacrifice, 

Roses are for joy of meeting. 

Sweeter than all flowers that bloom. 
Cool and pure and frail and tender, 
Are the ferns that in the gloom 
Of the woodland rise up slender. 

Flowers to the earthly sense 
Speak their secrets, heart to heart. 
Ferns to the intelligence 
Do their subtler tale impart. 

So let all the senses sleep ; 
Let the spirit wake and brood. 
Where the ferns wave in the steep 
Shadowed coolness of the wood. 



[83] 



Calix Florum 

How shall I quench my thirst for flowers? 
For amaryllis blazing fair 
Beyond the cool space of the lawn ; 
White Shirley poppies, pale at dawn 
Trembling like sea foam on the air. 
And April bowers 
Where the new grape leaves shine 
Flushed with red promise of the wine. 

I crave the harebell's perfect blue, 

The wise, dear scent of mignonette; 

A quince bud's sculptured pearl and rose: 

May hawthorn bloom, like dawn-tinged snows, 

And, in the garden border, wet 

With evening dew. 

Small sprays of heliotrope 

That wound the mind with memory and hope. 

[84] 



How shall I drink the beauty deep 
Of wild-rose tangles near the sea, 
Tossed by the south-west wind that passes, 
Whipping the delicate dune grasses 
To lines, of quivering silver glee, 
That bend and sweep 
Their small rings on the sand. 
Like circles by a fairy's hand? 

I thirst for the high pastures where 
The laurel, virginal and stern. 
Blooms in her vestal solitude ; 
And for the friendly little wood, 
Above the mill stream's noise, where burn, 
Priestly and rare. 
The unforgettable fires 
Of midsummer cardinal spires. 

I thirst, I drink, I am not fed ; 
These beauties run in every vein ; 
Like love, they will not be denied; 
Like love, they are not satisfied: 
flowers fraught with splendid pain, 
Uncomforted 
Among your glories, I 
Give thanks, still yearningly. 

[8s] 



Not till your many blooms, in one 
Immortal wine dissolve and glow, 
Mixed with the sea and wind and mist 
And mountain peaks of amethyst, 
Not till into the wine bowl flow 
The stars and sun, 
flowers, can you fill 
The deep thirst of one human will ! 



[86] 



The Dream 

I found a garden in my dream, all lilies, roses 

And heliotrope and secret shady closes. 

Alleys were there, bordered with gorgeous phlox, 

Larkspur and foxglove and tall hollyhocks, 

Snapdragon, winey spiced, and gillyflowers; 

And there were bowers 

Where, 'mong the deep bells of the trumpet vine, 

I saw the humming birds, tiny and splendid, shine. 

Near by, a pool 

Fringed round with sword leaved iris, keen and cool : 

A little plot 

Of rose tipped daisies and forget-me-not. 

And by a sun dial 's melancholy plinth, 

A bed of pure new fern and summer hyacinth. 

The air was hung with tangled odors, sweet 

In the day's fading heat; 

Up from the river bed the swallows flew 

Across the amber sky, while the first dew 

Fell soft on heart and flowers. Then at the garden's end 

I saw my lost, beloved friend. 

Smiling he stood a moment: swiftly came 

[87] 



Striding amid the twilit bloom; but when he 

spoke my name 
The beauty grew too beautiful, and broke : 
The garden faded, and I woke. 



[88] 



Lone Pine Hill 

Triumphant caravans of praise 
Stalk the procession of my days. 

What treasure from the jewelled Ind 
Is curious as a good child's mind? 

What fairy nymphs o 'er waters rule 
More limpid than my mountain pool ? 

Can nightingale or skylark sing 

As did last evening's thrush on wing? 

What unicorn or griffin shines 
More dreadful than my porcupines? 

Triumphant caravans of praise 
Stalk the procession of my days. 



[89] 



\ 



PRAYER 



A Song for My Lord 

Others bring Christ their pain, dismay, 
Their terror and their sadness; 

My humble gift is bright and gay, 
A little song of gladness. 

Yes, I have sorrowed. And I know 
Christ bends above our weeping; 

But he has many burdens, so 
My joy is for his keeping. 

For I am joyful, Christ my Lord, 

Glad as the April swallow; 
Over me blows your mighty word 

And all my heart cries "Follow." 



[93] 



A Little Song for Death 

An arrow dropping through the snow 

Sure of its buried mark, 
So straight and still my heart will go 

Into the silver dark. 

A sword blade, cleaving swift and clear 
Through glistering sea-foam, 

So will my heart, stripped clean of fear, 
To death 's deep place go home. 



[94] 



To Those Who Make Formulas 

We 've tethered truth in one neat word, 
As those who would the whirlwind bind. 
But suddenly a gust is heard ! 
All the tall ships and trees are stirred, 
While truth goes free, and leaves behind 
Only a neat and empty word. 



[95] 



Sisters of Worship 

Three sisters point the way to prayer: 
Work, climbing up her rocky stair, 
With look of faith to sunlit hills ; 
Beauty, that like a woodthrush trills 
Dissolving music in still lands ; 
And love, deep-bosomed, with grave hands 
And eyes that give and ask and bless, 
Lighting the soul to holiness. 



[96] 



Grief's Rival 

Sorrow cried to me, and said, 
*'Joy I am not jealous of, 
"And I do not envy love, 
''One foe only do I tread. 

*'And his name is little grief, 
"Worry, trivial sorrowing. 
"From my wealth he's borrowing 
"Always, the ignoble thief. 



When I strike a happy heart, 
Or a heart all love-entwined, 
Deep the blow strikes, and the mind 
Deeply ponders on the smart. 



"But when to a worried soul 
"Sorrow enters, my intrusion 
"Only adds to the confusion, 
"Cannot cleanse and make it whole.'* 



[97] 



How the flesh craves to melt its form and be 
One word, one act, a single arrow sped 
Straight at life 's target ; one clear torrent shed 
Down a deep gulch into the thirsting sea. 
Oh, to exchange this long complexity 
Of heart and senses and the laboring head 
Into a leaping wholeness ! To be paid 
All in one moment to Eternity. 

"What wind is there to sweep us from the dead 
Shards of old purpose ? What shall set us free 
From tangled groping? Can naught make the whole 
Of man 's poor dust into a flame-swift soul ? 
The answer thunders round us as we pray. 
"I am the Path, my children, and the Way." 



[98] 



His Ways 

God's time is very large : He counts men's hours 
With a calm hand, as children gather flowers. 
The measured majesty of moon-moved tides, 
The fiery breath of Aetna, these He guides 
With silver rods of wisdom and of love; 
And all our feverish terrors doth reprove, 
Bidding us bring our troubled hearts to rest, 
Safe in His word, as birdies on their nest. 



[99] 



Prayer 

Prayer is a silence, wind and fire. 

A fire to burn the shell of sense, 

And leave us naked to our day. 
A wind to blow desire 's mists away. 

A silence infinite, intense, 

Deep as the whirlpool's centre whence 
The waters of life are flung in surging spray. 



[100] 



On Modern Talk of Sex 

Stars, flowers, thunder, music, thought, all these 

Are keys to open life 's dear mysteries. 

Why call one key a name so bare and crude 

That it can only force the doors to rude 

And graceless visions? 

Oh, you modern youth, 

Who prate so glibly of the ** naked truth," 
Truth, shod with stars, and clad in flowers and thunder 
Has fled from you, and on the Hills of Wonder 
Walks between thought and love and glorious 

death. 
. . . Repent and pray, ye children of unf aith ! 



[lOl] 



The Captain 

Oh arrogant and meek, Adored, 

Our Savior, Minister and Lord, 

Who brought us peace and eke the sword! 

*' Light is My burden, mild My yoke," 
The Man who looked on sorrow, spoke; 
And thunderous echoings awoke. 

His own neck bent beneath the load 
Of that fierce cross that points to God. 
Men spat upon Him in the road. 

He bids us bring our grief, and rest 
Like little children in His breast, 
Till sudden hear we His behest, 

''Sell all thou hast, thy life give up, 
"Drain utterly the outcast's cup; 
''On persecution drink and sup." 

Prince of Peace, Who washed the feet 
Of sinners, and sat down to meat 
With startled wantons of the street, 

[102] 



Your life for me is scourge and light, 

Refuge and accusation, bright 

With love, and dark with awful might. 

But over all your deeds, above 
Tempestuous woe and flame-bright love, 
One saying floats, a golden dove. 

The word of Him whose sorrows flow 
Resounding through the ages, '^Lo, 
^'Forgive them, God, they do not know!" 



[103] 



Calvary 

That night of riven rocks and bloody dew, 
Christ in his anguish saw his brothers stand 
Lusting for death ; beheld each upraised hand 
A flag of shame. Faint on the cross he knew, 
Century long, would all men, I and you, 
Deny our saviors ; and with one great cry 
His love, as lightning, pierced the farthest sky, 
** Father, forgive, they know not what they do/' 

tenderness more terrible than fire, 

mercy, mightier than raging seas, 

His word still burns away our false desire. 

And washes down our sandbuilt caves of ease. 

Till, saved by flood and flame, each sinner knows, 

God pardons even us. Truth ^s paltry foes. 



[104] 



Prayer 

Into God's grace I dive, as under seas 
Deep, dim and cool, the tired body slips, 
Leaving the wave crests and the plumed ships, 
The seething storm wrack and the rainbow leas, 
To cleave clear down, through emerald silences. 
Into the heart of silence, where light dies, 
And darkness has no colour, and sound flies, 
And quietness broods on through centuries. 

Even so today, in one long plunge of prayer, 
Spuming the wind rocked waves of love and care, 
The buffeting stress of life's insistencies, 
I dive deep into silence of God's will, 
Profounder than the utmost seas' abyss, 
Wordless and wonderful and very still. 



[105] 



